Bittersweet Happiness
“So, what do you mean, we’re getting a divorce? David, are you joking?”
Margaret stared at her husband, baffled. Divorce? After nearly twenty-five years? In just a fortnight, they were to celebrate or perhaps now there’d be nothing to celebrate. Her mind spun. What about the reception, the guests? The invitations had all been sent outeveryone would be there. The whole family, friends whod rung endlessly, asking about gifts. Even Judith, her oldest friend, had already sent something ahead since she was too far along in her pregnancy to travelsix months is no time to board a plane. Better she stayed home; they’d see each other later and raise a glass then. Judith had played a vital role in bringing Margaret and David together, introducing them as university mates, and on their wedding day, shed shouted “Kiss! Kiss!” the loudest, hiding behind the bouquet Margaret hadn’t thrown, but handed purposely to her friend.
I dont know whats keeping your Nick, Margaret would tease. Hell let a amazing girl like you get away!
Hes just not ready, Maggie. No need to rush, Judith would reply, fixing Margarets hair. All in good time! Why would I want a husband whos not grown up yet? Better to wait until he is. No point in hurrying just to end up splitting the china and the children! Id rather bide my time.
Youre far too organised for your own good! Margaret would giggle, watching Judith reapply her lipstick with mock irritation.
I just dont see the point in half measures. If youre going to do something, do it all the way.
And children, Judith? All at once?
Yes! Twins would be smashingone go at it, the full set! With twins in my family, and in Nicks, its even likely.
And then you still have to raise them
Twos easier than one, honestly, Judith would laugh. She was always the clever one, quick-witted and practical. Even as girls, whenever they got up to mischief, it was never Judith who got caught; she could orchestrate any scheme to escape noticeand tried to carry her accomplices along, unless someone thought they were smarter and did things their own way. Then Judith would simply step back and watch the fallout.
Its all about healthy competition, Maggie. Built-in best mates, and Mother of the Year status for raising twin children at once. Not bad, eh? Should I keep listing?
No need! Margaret would laugh, privately certain Judith would end up with exactly what she wished for.
As it happened, fate had an even greater sense of humour. Judith ended up with triplets. Life seemed to want to test herand she passed with flying colours. Davids family soon learned to appreciate her as wellJudith, who held her own with everyone, always even-tempered but never ingratiating, and always ready to help, usually through some prompt for her husband to be useful. Nick would grumble, but Judiths logic always prevailed: One day well need help too, and what then? No use burning bridges.
So, when Judith needed an extra pair of hands for her trio of children, two grandmothers and a single grandfatherJudiths own father having long since passedwere eager to help. Judith not only managed her children, tiny and fragile at birth, but promptly enrolled in university.
Judith! Are you mad? When will you fit everything in? Margaret was in awe.
Who would dare fail a mum of triplets? Keeps my mind from stagnating, and when Im done, Ill have experience and a broad educationa bit of law, a bit of economics! Not a bad combo, right?
Judith earned her diploma and soon landed a job, assuring her new boss that whatever salary she received would cover the cost of a nanny.
But Judith, thats cutting it fine! What would you have left for yourself?
First of all, the grandmothers are on hand, not that my employer needs to know. Second, Maggie, I need experience. Whatever qualifications Ive gained, what use am I if I dont know the ropes? Experience, not certificates, is what counts. Let me scrape by for a couple of yearsafter that, Ill get to pick my own job terms.
Margaret marvelled at her friend, never understanding how one woman could do so much at once, seemingly tireless, never stuck in place as she so often felt herself. Even at nursery age, Margaret had struggled making decisionseven choosing which tights to wear, red or blue, felt insurmountable.
But when you decide, its always the best course, Judith would reassure her. Youre a traditionalist, Maggie. The most dependable people always are.
Dependable Right! David certainly appreciated this dependability. She found herself in disbelief. Why did he want this divorce? Theyd weathered muchyes, not having children had cast a shadow over their marriage, but they’d long ago come to terms with it. Margaret had tried volunteering at local childrens homes, but knew deep down she couldnt take in a child of her own. It wasn’t fear of the challenge, or a lack of resources. What she feared most was an inability to become a true motherunable to love a child properly, however that might be defined. She felt there must be something more to it than just wanting.
You just havent met your child yet, Mrs. Seymour, the homes director, had said, watching the volunteers lead a ring around a tinsel-laden tree. Margaret stood at her side, watching the little ones play through eyes filled with sadness. When you do, you’ll know. Nothing will keep you from that child. Not setbacks, nor struggle.
And if I never see them? If my child isnt waiting for me? Margaret asked, placing gifts on tables.
Then so be it. Better that way than taking responsibility you cant bear. Then youll just end up with two unhappy peopleyou and the child. Mark my words, Ive seen it too many times. See that little Michael? Hes already come back twice.
My goodness! But hes so smallfive?
Six, come next birthday. Two years in one home, then a year in another.
Why? How could they send him back?
The first couple took in an orphan, then had one of their own. Happens more often than youd believe. The second couple overestimated their strength; they had two of their own, took in three more. Michael made four, and love ran out. Why they took him at all, I couldnt say. He lived there nearly a year, and then simply retreatedrefused to eat, refused even water. Asked to come back to the childrens home, because they dont love me. No psychologist could reach him. They brought him back. And you know, it might have been better if theyd never tried. Poor boy doesnt trust anyonenor hope for anything. I doubt anyone will be able to give him a real home. It would take more love than I can imagine.
That conversation sent Margaret into such a gloom she almost began the paperwork right thenbut Judith had sobered her: Are you sure youve got enough love? If not… dont do it, Maggie. Dont take a risk on pityyoud only become another person who lets him down. Do you want that for yourself? Or for the child? If you like, Ill send one of mine over for a week; see if you fancy motherhood, then decide.
Margaret refused. She never returned to the childrens home after that, offering help from a distance, but for some reason, Michael remained steadfast in her minda beacon, warning her to live in such a way shed never cause another soul pain. That lesson stuck.
Margaret wrapped her arms about herself. Why was it so cold? It was only autumn, and the heating was on. What next? Should she help David pack? Which clothes would he need? Warm thingsthe old English weather rarely stayed mild for long Their summer was always so fleeting, autumn over in a blink. Not like at her mothers in Cornwall, where shed never known frost. Whole winters in a light leather jacket, only donning something thicker for walks up the hills on weekends And she realised what she wanted most of allto see her mother again, to run away for a few days to the hills, freedom beside the only person who ever understood her. But her mother was gone. And now David would be, too.
Heaven help, she didnt want freedomshe wanted her husband. She wanted things as they were: breakfast coffee, midnight coffee, as the mood took them; conversations lasting till dawn; those spontaneous jaunts to the theatre or countryside. Theyd never managed to plan; their best days were always unplannedDavid phoning up in the middle of a workday:
Mags, what are you doing?
Rushed off my feet! Two interviews, then the bank.
Oh, come on. Ditch it. Lets go out for a wander.
Margaret would drop everything, and an hour on, theyd be ambling wordlessly through the woods, or sharing idle chat, and it was always perfect
Now that perfection lived only in memory. Only for herfor David, the past would fade, hed have a new life, with that new woman who was expecting a child. A child! Was that the crux of it? Or was their whole marriage never truthful, right from the start? The first, Margaret was prepared to understand, almost forgive; the second never. For that would mean she was nothinghadnt been woman enough to make him want to stay, after all those years.
She stood by the kitchen window, knees pressed to the radiators, willing herself to turn, to move but she couldnt. She heard Davids footsteps crossing the flat: drawers opening, cupboard doors slamming. She shook so much that the lone flowerpot Judith had given her slid to the edge of the windowsill. When the front door finally closed, Margaret unclenched her grip from the ledge, pressed her fingers to the surface as though she could crack the world, straightened, swept the pot to the floor, and screamed.
No relief came. The dark soil scattered among broken pottery oddly steadied herthe world was black, stark, just as things truly were. No light remainedhed left, shutting her in to grope her way alone, nothing familiar left to guide her.
Except
She wrenched herself from the radiator, walked barefoot through the shardslittle caring for the cutto fetch her phone from the bedroom.
Juuud
It wasnt even a sobsomething more primitive, an animal wail born of deep pain, and nothing more could be said. Judith needed no more. She understood everything.
Has David gone?
Yes.
Right. Expect me tomorrow.
Youre mad! Margaret snapped back to herself at the brisk, bossy note in her friends voice. Dont! I forbid itif anything happens to you or the baby, Id never forgivewait, Judith, did you know?!
Not for certainjust suspected. Last time you visited, David wouldnt meet my eyes. I thought it odd. Now its all clear. Mags, honestlythis is for the best.
Really? How, Judith? I dont want to live. Everything is gone! My life is in tatters What should I do?
Buy yourself a dress!
What? Margarets surprise almost made her drop the phone. What did you say?
You heard me. The dress you always thought was too much moneygo buy it. Right now. Send me a picture, afterwards. Dont just sit and howldo something! Then get on a train or a plane and come here. Im finewell go for a little walk in the hills. No camping, nothing strenuous. I need this too, or Ill lose my mind. Freds got a rugby match soon, the girls have gone on netball tripsits the perfect time. Dont make a pregnant woman worry!
And Judith hung up, leaving Margaret staring at the phone in disbelief. Yet, the answer came on its own.
Margaret rose slowly, went to the mirror. There she wasall the years showed plainly on her face. No longer a girl, sure. But not an old woman, either. Still something left. Youth long past, but not her funeral yetno, not just yet! If David thought shed curl up and fade, he had another thing coming. Judith was right, so terribly right. Enough!
Running her fingers through her hair, Margaret wiped away her tears and stood tall. She had to keep going; once she sat down, shed never rise again.
Her phone in hand, she dashed off a flurry of messages, cancelling all the arrangements. A couple of calls to cancel the reception and such. Done! Broom nowshe needed a broom!
She wholly forgot about the two vacuum cleaners in the cupboard, reaching instead for broom and cloth, cleaning the kitchen with fierce vigour. The pot could be replaced.
The dress fitted perfectly; she had coveted it for weeksa bright, scarlet affair, nothing like the muted shades she favoured lately. Shed always left bold, show-stopping colours to Judith, who wore them without attracting scorn, always the centre of attention, while Margaret had been content to observe. But now, suddenly, she found herself wanting something more. Why not? Had she really become so dull, so invisible? Nothe mirror showed her another truth. Tired, yes, shaken and lost, but not broken. Something remainedand no one could take it from her. She wished she could boil over, rage through her grief, wash away all that didnt matter anymoreyet, she did understand why David left, the cost to him, too. For they had become more than man and wife; betraying your friend was always hardest. But stillwhy, David?
The train journey required a change, but Margaret didnt mind. Distraction was very welcome.
The trip was perfect. She and Judith walked every trail within reach of their hotel; walking those hills, they fell into companionable silences, or talked, tripping over each others words, as though afraid to miss anything important. Margaret felt the weight lift, bit by bit. Judith always had a way of making mountains into molehills, of turning yesterdays ordeal into tomorrows shrug, and of reminding Margaret to look forward.
Come back. Why stay there, alone, Mags? The business? Surely there are children here need crèches and care? Father isnt wellyou wanted to bring him closer, and now you can, without the fuss of moving. Buy a flat nearby. Think about it.
And think she didand by the end of their little holiday, Margaret decided Judith was right.
The months following were a blurdivorce, sale of the house and car, the endless forms and signatures for relinquishing her business, in which shed invested so much she couldnt even quantify it. She steeled herself to meet David a couple of times, teeth clenched, refusing to let her emotions show, then deleted his number for good.
Her old hometown welcomed her with a true English springapple blossom flying, sunlight glistening. Breathing was suddenly easier, her new life waiting to be built. She opted not to live with her father, choosing instead a flat just around the corner. That decision was sealed the day she turned up unannounced, only to meet a gentle, silver-haired womanLouisawho greeted her warmly at the door, smile so sincere Margaret instantly knew her father would be happiest as master of his own house. She accepted Louisa with grace; there was nothing to contest, and she was glad her father had found new companionship. Margaret knew how much her parents had loved each other, but didnt believe her father should be an eternal widower.
One for the books, isnt he, our Charles? Louisa would say devotedly. Yesright then and there, Margaret realised: love was not just the stuff of stories. No, it lived, breathedsome people found it with ease, and others, not at all. But this gave Margaret hope. If her father could find love again so late in life, perhaps her person was out there too, waiting, unseen.
A year sped by. The two childrens centres Margaret opened thrived, leaving her with no time to brood. Despite overhauling every aspect of her old lifeher style, her hair, even finally getting the dog shed always wantedloneliness would still creep in of an evening. On those nights, shed sit in the dark, aimlessly circling her teacup on the table, wishing David would walk in, flick the lights, touch her shoulder, and say, Whats wrong, Mags? Shall I put the kettle on, and you can tell me everything? She knew that moving on meant moving on fully, but she could never fully banish this side of herself. David could never quite leave her, not completely.
When a tax problem cropped up a year and a half after selling the business, she was almost delighted to have something to do. She handled matters in a day, leaving her with spare time before her train back home. So she wandered the old neighbourhoodto see, perhaps, the places where shed once been happy or unhappy. It depends how you look at it.
One of her centres had closed, the other flourished. Margaret peered in at the childrens heads bent over their drawings, smiled when the young teacher gave a roaring bear impression, delighting the class with wild shouts and brushes flying. Good bloke, she’d thought; the children adored him, which was really the only thing that mattered.
Passing the old housewhere she and David had once livedand the big park where shed dreamed of taking their children, Margaret found herself wandering along the familiar path, noticing the refurbished benches and restored fountain.
There, on a bench by the fountain, a man was pushing a pram back and forth. She vaguely recognised him, but it was only as she drew closer and saw Davidolder now, hair gone white, sitting awkwardly as he gently shifted the pramthat she truly realised. Pain was written in his posture; he looked smaller, eager to be invisible. Margaret couldnt let that be. She knew precisely how to help him, if only hed let her.
David
He flinched, lowering his head even further, hesitant to meet her eye.
Hello, Maggie, he murmured.
She sat besides him. How are you?
It was the wrong question, and she instantly wanted to flee, but stayed, watching as David finally stilled the pram, then looked up.
Not well, Mags. Not at all.
Why? she pressed, and though she felt foolish, she knew she had to ask, if she were ever to let him go.
Because Im alone. Because Im a fool who lost everything good in his life over a mistake that cost me everything.
Youre wrong. Margaret gazed at him, realising shed give anything to erase those years of pain between them. Youve more than you left me, David.
She glanced at the pram. A boy or a girl?
Daughter. Eva.
A young wife, a babywhat else could you want?
Theres no wife, Mags. Mila is gone. The birth was awful.
Margaret gasped. In that moment, she felt no malice for the woman whod been at the heart of it allonly pity for a girl whod seized an opportunity at the staff party, not expecting the consequences. David had hardly touched a drink, everyone knew that. How he ended up leaving with Mila that night, no one could say. But what was done was done, and now their little mistake dozed in the pram, as David pushed it each day, terrified she might cry.
They sat quietly for a long time. At last, taking turns, tumbling over each other, they began to speak, and before long, Eva woke, wide-eyed, to watch the lamps light up and the early stars flicker to life in the darkening sky.
Margaret stood to peer at the girl, and found herself transfixed by her face.
When you see your child, youll understand, Margaret! Mrs Seymours faraway voice echoed in her memory.
Six months later, Mrs Seymour brought a dark-haired, serious-eyed boy into her office, nodded at Margaret, and disappeared, leaving them alone.
Michael, do you know why Im here?
For me.
Do you want to live with me?
I dont know. I doubt youll take me, anyway.
Michael eyed Margaret coolly. A flicker of hope crossed his face when she asked but died as soon as she drew out photographs.
That your husband?
Yes.
And is this your daughter?
No, Michael, she is not.
The spark came again, and this time Margaret caught it, refusing to let it go dark.
She isnt my child, Michael, but I will be her mother. And yours, if you wish.
Youll send me back.
Why do you think that?
Everyone does.
Im not everyone. And do you know why?
No.
Because I know what it means to lose everything. When theres nothing left and no one loves you anymore. That hurts more than anything.
I know
And do you know what a mother really is?
No
A mother is someone who will never let her child be hurt like that again.
Is it because you feel sorry for me?
Margaret looked at him hard, then shook her head.
No. I dont want to pity you. I want to love you, do you understand? I want to make things better for you. And I want to give Evaa little girlan older brother. Strong, bravethe kind wholl always look out for her. What do you think, could we do that?
Michael said nothing for a long while, searching her face. She was beautiful, and yes, sometimes sad, but her bright red dress shone so that Michael felt compelled to reach out and touch the fabric, half-convinced he was dreaming.
Do you like it?
Very much.
So do I. I bought it when things were awfuland, you know, it helped. Now I love the colour.
I like it too, Michael agreed, running his hand over the silk. I want to try.
No, Michael, no trying for us. We just do. Because it’s right. Ill never send you away. But you must help me, understand? Because I still dont know what its like to be a mother. But I want to learn. For you, and for Eva. If youll let me. Will you help?
He nodded, and Margaret finally let herself breathe.
Years later, a family filed along a mountain path: a dark-haired, slender boy watching over a scampering, restless girl, who darted ahead at every chance.
Eva, there are wolves in those woods!
No, there arent!
There are! And bearshuge, hungry ones.
Their mummy didnt make enough porridge?
No, their mummy cant cook at all.
Ours can.
Well then, ours had better make some for the bears!
Mum! Eva protested, momentarily forgetting the leaves shed been chasing. You cant make proper porridgebears won’t like it if its lumpy!
You scamp! Margaret laughed, scooping her daughter up and kissing her nose. Thats just your preference. Bears would love iteven with lumps.
Give them mine tomorrow! And the honey you bought too!
Not likelyI love honey! And little lady, are you going to hitch a ride with me all day or walk now?
I want to be carried!
Then off you goDaddys turn! Margaret handed Eva to David, ruffled Michaels hair. What do you say, Michael, shall we make porridge for the bears?
Mum, Im not ready to go homewe havent seen everything yet. And if Eva starts feeding the local animals, well never be able to get out of the hotel. Maybe let them stay hungry a bit?
Margaret burst out laughing, glancing back at the sprawling hills.
Eva, lets feed the bears another day, shall we? Ill learn to cook porridge properlyI promise.
Alright! Eva said at once, so quickly and cheerfully that Margaret and Michael shared a look.
Oh, Mum! Michael nodded at his little sister, pulling a face.
Oh, my boy, Margaret agreedand together they watched as Eva and David disappeared up the trail, laughter echoing behind them into the open sky. The day, just beginning to brighten the mountaintops, promised to be clear and bright.
